Morning Commute

My job is 40 minutes away… So I guess I am a commuter…

My efforts in gaining inner peace and wisdom are severely hindered every Monday-Friday because there are many things I encounter on that commute that make me angry.

Gas
No I didn’t eat a bean & egg breakfast burrito I’m talking about some good ole petroleum. Gas prices have fallen at a frantic pace but, excuse my lack of gratitude, they’re still too damn expensive. What’s worse is my car has a hwy mpg of like 10 miles… Ok that was an exaggeration but still… It sucks

slow drivers
Its like there’s a conspiracy going on to make me late for work. People driving 55 mph when the speed limit is 70 should be prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law.

sucky music/radio choices
This is partly my fault because of my limited music choices and my reluctance to spend any time to put good music on my phone. Sometimes I listen to sports talk radio and after a couple of minutes I grow tired of the constant over analyzations and the Tim Tebow references.

Yesterday I tried something different. I put on 1 of my favorite albums, completely ignored my gas meter, and relaxed the entire way. Yes, there were slow drivers but I didn’t let that bother me. Because of my relaxed commute my whole day went by without a hitch.

I’m not saying that everyday will be great if you have a good morning drive but, having that solid foundation will give you a fighting chance to face the day and leave it unscathed.

So wake up, smile, & enjoy your drive to work… At least you have a job…. (be grateful).

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Black History Quote of the Day 2/21/12 (Malcolm X’s eulogy)

Delivered by Ossie Davis

Here—at this final hour, in this quiet place—Harlem has come to bid farewell to one of its brightest hopes—extinguished now, and gone from us forever. For Harlem is where he worked and where he struggled and fought—his home of homes, where his heart was, and where his people are—and it is, therefore, most fitting that we meet once again—in Harlem—to share these last moments with him.

For Harlem has ever been gracious to those who have loved her, have fought for her and have defended her honor even to the death. It is not in the memory of man that this beleaguered, unfortunate, but nonetheless proud community has found a braver, more gallant young champion than this Afro-American who lies before us—unconquered still.

I say the word again, as he would want me to: Afro-American—Afro-American Malcolm, who was a master, was most meticulous in his use of words. Nobody knew better than he the power words have over minds of men.

Malcolm had stopped being a Negro years ago. It had become too small, too puny, too weak a word for him.

Malcolm was bigger than that. Malcolm had become an Afro-American, and he wanted—so desperately—that we, that all his people, would become Afro-Americans, too.

There are those who will consider it their duty, as friends of the Negro people, to tell us to revile him, to flee, even from the presence of his memory, to save ourselves by writing him out of the history of our turbulent times.
Many will ask what Harlem finds to honor in this stormy, controversial and bold young captain—and we will smile. Many will say turn away—away from this man; for he is not a man but a demon, a monster, a subverter and an enemy of the black man—and we will smile. They will say that he is of hate—a fanatic, a racist—who can only bring evil to the cause for which you struggle! And we will answer and say to them:
Did you ever talk to Brother Malcolm? Did you ever touch him or have him smile at you? Did you ever really listen to him? Did he ever do a mean thing? Was he ever himself associated with violence or any public disturbance? For if you did, you would know him. And if you knew him, you would know why we must honor him: Malcolm was our manhood, our living, black manhood!
This was his meaning to his people. And, in honoring him, we honor the best in ourselves. Last year, from Africa, he wrote these words to a friend: My journey, he says, is almost ended, and I have a much broader scope than when I started out, which I believe will add new life and dimension to our struggle for freedom and honor and dignity in the States.

I am writing these things so that you will know for a fact the tremendous sympathy and support we have among the African States for our human rights struggle. The main thing is that we keep a united front wherein our most valuable time and energy will not be wasted fighting each other.

However we may have differed with him—or with each other about him and his value as a man—let his going from us serve only to bring us together, now.
Consigning these mortal remains to earth, the common mother of all, secure in the knowledge that what we place in the ground is no more now a man—but a seed—which, after the winter of our discontent, will come forth again to meet us.

And we will know him then for what he was and is—a prince—our own black shining prince!—who didn’t hesitate to die, because he loved us so.